
Text
Verse
Grey clouds hanging low and wide
Empty seats on the riverside
A single plastic bag rolls by
Underneath a heavy sky
The turnstiles stand in silent rows
Where the weekend fever goes
Chorus
Oh, the echoes in the concrete rain
Waiting for the roar and the holy pain
The ghost of the crowd in the afternoon light
Before the stadium wakes for the fight
Yeah, we’re waiting for the fight
Verse
Rust is creeping on the gate
The hollow silence carries weight
No chanting voices, no drums in the air
Just the wind through the stands and a vacant stare
The floodlights sleep in the pale midday
Watching the shadows drift away
Chorus
Oh, the echoes in the concrete rain
Waiting for the roar and the holy pain
The ghost of the crowd in the afternoon light
Before the stadium wakes for the fight
Yeah, we’re waiting for the fight
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